


Choose Wisely (The Secret History of Neal Caffrey)

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Secret History of Neal Caffrey [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Crossover, M/M, Pre-Movie, Pre-Series, This explains Neal Caffrey and his extraordinary and amazing skills, Tiny Character-Driven Spoiler for Kingsman - The Golden Circle, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Harry offers Neal a choice - a once in a lifetime opportunity. One that Neal has no intention of turning down.





	Choose Wisely (The Secret History of Neal Caffrey)

**Author's Note:**

> Slight character spoiler for Kingsman - The Golden Circle, not plot related.

**London, 2003**

Harry pours them each a glass of wine and Neal can't help himself. He takes a sip and asks, "What's going on?"

Harry leans back in his chair, grinning like he's just gotten the world's best Christmas present. "You tell me, _Neal_."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry hadn't expected to enjoy this so much. No, that is a lie. He'd hoped that the reveal would satisfy his inner drama queen, but he hadn't realized just how much he'd been looking forward to seeing his quarry cornered.

Neal, of course, does a magnificent job of pretending that his back isn't against the wall. He blinks and regroups, saying "Neal? Who's Neal? You must have me confused with someone else."

Harry smirks. "No, I don't think so. You are Neal Caffrey, born Neal Bennett in Washington, D.C. in March, 1979. Called Danny Brooks from ages three to seventeen. Nicholas Halden is an alias you first used when working for the financier, Vincent Adler, and one that you've employed regularly as a money launderer, banker, and gambler."

Neal stares at him, his expression calm, but his hands are trembling ever-so-slightly as he holds his wineglass.

"You parents are James Bennett and Veronica Bennet, _nee_ Carlyle. Your father was a rising star in the homicide division of the D.C. police force until he was arrested for corruption and the murder of a fellow cop. You and your mother went into the Witness Protection Program when you were four, after your father gave up several senior members of the local mob in exchange for a reduced sentence and a new identity. Unfortunately, he died before he finished his sentence." 

Harry is slightly startled by Neal's laugh. "What is so amusing?"

"I guess I was right."

"Excuse me? Right about what?"

"I knew, from the beginning, that you weren't some mild mannered businessman - a property manager." Neal chuckles and shakes his head. "I got it right. You're MI-6."

Harry smiles. "Not quite."

"No?" Neal raises an eyebrow at that. "MI-5? SIS?"

"No, but we'll get to that. I'm interested in how you came to your conclusion, though." Harry has always been as fascinated by Neal's mind as he's been with his body. This is a unique opportunity to figure out how he ticks. 

"Your hands."

That surprises Harry and he makes a show of looking at them. "They are ordinary hands."

"Not in the least. You've got gun calluses on both the right and left palm and trigger finger. It takes a very special kind of dedication to build up gun calluses to begin with, and ever more dedication to have them on both hands. I knew that you were more than you showed from the first time you touched me."

"I'm impressed. Very impressed. What else?"

"Your scars – the ones on your back and torso. A lot of them are way too fresh for action in the first Gulf War. And you were particularly cagey about your 'service'." Neal makes air quotes around that last word.

"Very good, Neal. You are extremely observant. Which is an important quality for a con artist and a professional thief to have."

Neal winces. "You know everything, it seems. I probably should be disturbed that you know about my WitSec identity, but if you're a spy …" 

Harry knows that Neal's waiting for confirmation, but he's not going to get it so quickly. "Do you want to know what gave _you_ away?"

"My accent." Neal slips out of RP and right into a bland American accent. "My Received Pronunciation isn't perfect. When we were moved to St. Louis, my mother made a deliberate effort to sound American. Until she stopped talking altogether. I've never quite gotten rid of the slight drawl."

"And I'm even more impressed. You realize your own flaws. Few people are that self-aware."

Neal shrugs and goes right back to using RP. "I'm really not big on self-delusion. It's good enough to fool most people, but if someone's been trained to hear accents, then it's going to be obvious."

Harry takes a sip of wine and spares a moment's regret for the _osso bucco_ growing cold before them.

"So, what happens now?" Neal drains his wine and Harry gets up to refill both of their glasses.

"I have a proposition for you." Harry grins. This is going to be so much fun.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal is doing his best not to let the nerves show. He's both disconcerted and elated. That Harry - and by extension whoever Harry works for - knows his WitSec identity is troubling. The Witness Protection Service is supposed to be impenetrable. But it's also a government agency and that means there are bound to be leaks, and if not leaks, then cracks and flaws to be exploited.

But that Harry DeVere - or whoever he really is - is a spy excites Neal. This is almost as good as finding out that he's on the FBI's radar. And if Harry knows about Danny Brooks and Neal Bennett and everyone else, he'll have to know about Special Agent Peter Burke. "So I guess you know about the FBI, too."

"Of course. The Atlantic Partners bonds that you forged. The Raphael you liberated from the National Gallery in D.C. Those bronze medallions at the Smithsonian. I know everything. And to repeat myself, I'm impressed."

Neal leans back in his chair and doesn't try to keep the grin off his face. He's a sucker for praise. And Harry may know a lot, but he doesn't know everything. "So, who are you? Really?"

"Remember where we met?"

"That shop on Portobello." Neal has no clue where this is going.

"Remember the medal? The one I told you was from the Kingsman tailor shop?" Harry is looking like such a smug bastard that Neal finds himself _almost_ moved to violence.

"Of course." Neal blinks. "And it's not really a tailor shop, is it? Or, not just a tailor shop."

"Their bespoke suits are worth every penny, but yes – it's not just a tailor shop. The Kingsman is a private organization, dedicated to preserving peace in the face of chaos."

"You're spies. A private army of spies." Neal feels like he's been dropped head-first into a Hollywood movie.

"The organization is very select. Openings only happen through death or retirement."

"And you are telling me this because …" Neal wants to squirm in his seat, he's so excited.

"Because one such opening is available. And I would like to propose you as my candidate."

"Candidate?" Neal's puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"Well, you don't just walk in off the street and get the job. Every current member makes a proposal and the recruitment process lasts about six months. As part of the training, there are numerous physical and intellectual tests you'll need to pass. Fail any of them, and you're out."

"A competition?" Neal is intrigued, and he can hear Mozzie screaming at him to run away. He can also see Kate's eyes light up when she realizes that he's not a conman and a thief anymore. But he still has questions. "What happens to me if I do fail? I won't end up dead in a ditch, will I?" Neal's not sure if Harry will answer honestly, but he has to try.

"Kingman values life. We never take one unnecessarily."

"That's disturbingly vague." Mozzie's screaming ratchets up another notch.

Harry just leans back in his chair and smiles. Neal had always suspected that Harry – whatever his name might be – was a dangerous man, and it's rather thrilling to see proof of that. Neal might just have to play this out.

"For the record, I don't like guns."

"And for the record, you won several high school championships for marksmanship. Pistol, rifle, skeet. You even medaled at the state level."

"And just because I don't like guns, doesn't mean I don't know how to use them." Neal utters those words and it feels like a ghost has just walked across his grave.

Harry's still smiling. "You wanted to be a cop. You wanted to be a hero."

"I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps. He turned out to be a murderer and a liar and a thief, instead of a hero."

"So you became a liar and a thief as a way to, what, confirm his legacy?" Harry's stare turns hard. "That's an extraordinary waste of potential.

Neal should get angry at those harsh words, but they aren't words he hasn't said to himself from time to time. "So, Kingsman. How does this work?"

"You agree to become my proposal, I'll take you in and you'll start recruitment training. We won't see each other again, at least until you are one of the final candidates. If you wash out, it's unlikely that our paths will cross again." Harry pauses and sips his wine. "Which is regrettable. You are a rather remarkable person, Neal, and I've enjoyed our time together."

"Likewise, Harry." Neal feels no great emotional attachment to the man sitting across from him, but he has enjoyed his company. 

"Any other questions?"

"Just one."

"Ask away."

Neal has the feeling Harry knows what he's about to ask. "If I say no to your offer, what happens?"

"Sometimes James Bond gets it right. I'd dose you with a short term amnesia drug which would wipe the last few hours from your memory. I'd take you home and you'd wake up in the morning with a bit of a headache and a few empty wine bottles nearby. You'd find a voice message from me telling you that I'll be out of the country for the next few months and that would be that." Harry gives Neal a considering look. "But you aren't going to say no, are you?"

"I'm still not on-board with the whole kill or be killed thing."

"That's the movies, Neal. Kingsman values life above all else. Remember that."

Neal sighs. He's not sure if that's just part of the recruitment speech or it's something that Harry genuinely believes. Either way, Neal's far too intrigued to let the opportunity pass. "My answer is yes."

"Of course it is." Harry gets up. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Neal looks around. "What about everything?"

"Someone will be by to take care of this."

At that, Neal laughs and shakes his head. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" Harry hands Neal his jacket. 

"This isn't your place."

"No, it's a company property. Appease my curiosity – how did you know?"

Neal looks around and shrugs. "I can't really put a finger on it, except that everything is too polished and glossy. It's something out of a magazine – doesn't have the feeling that someone actually lives here. It doesn't feel like you at all. No butterflies."

That sets Harry back. "Butterflies? What do you mean by that?"

"You draw butterflies on your margins, on the edges of the Sunday crossword puzzle. And your sketchbook is filled with butterflies – they look like something out of a textbook. I have the feeling that you're an amateur lepidopterist, or perhaps you'd be a professional one if you weren't in the spy business."

The look Harry gives Neal chills him to the bone.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry doesn't say much as they walk to Savile Row. Neal's final observation has thoroughly unnerved him. What right does this young man – a con artist and a thief – have to see him so clearly?

They're a few blocks from the shop, waiting for a light to change when Neal says, "I'm sorry."

Harry lets out a sigh. "You have nothing to be sorry for. And for the record, you're right. If my life had taken a different path, I probably would be just that – some crazy Englishman devoted to his insects. It's just that you're the only one who's ever seen that – not even my friends know that about me." Harry almost edits that – he has one friend, Merlin, who is more of a close work colleague than a real friend.

Neal apologies again.

"Don't – it's my life and I've made my choices, no regrets."

They turn onto Savile Row and stop in front of the Kingsman shop. Neal shakes his head. "You know, this is kind of hard to believe. A custom tailor shop that's a front for a clandestine spy organization."

"Believe me, it's better than that faux Art Deco monstrosity on the bank of the Thames."

"The MI-6 headquarters is a lovely building." Neal's laughing as he says that.

"And completely spoiled by the twats who inhabit it." Harry has a long-standing hatred of the SIS and every time he has to work with them, he feels his life expectancy grow shorter. He climbs the steps and unlocks the front door. "Come on – we are definitely running late."

He watches as Neal casts an appreciative eye over the mannequins and the accessories. "Nothing like a custom tailored suit."

"The modern gentleman's armor." Harry laughs, "Especially when the fabric is bullet-proof." 

Neal fingers a sample of silk-wool that's draped over a counter. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not." Harry leads Neal over to Fitting Room One. "You make it through training, you'll get a suit."

Neal gives him a look, a smirk, really. "Perks of the job?"

"One of many. But only if you make it all the way through." Harry pulls on the coat hook that sends Fitting Room One down to the sublevel, to the platform where the bullet train waits. 

As they get into the car, Neal comments, "You really do love your James Bond gadgets, don't you?"

"Whatever you do, don't say that in front of Merlin." Harry knows just how much Merlin despises the fictional spy – both the books and the movies. He's seen Merlin verbally eviscerate the unfortunate people who've compared him to "Q".

Neal nods. "Understood." The train picks up speed and Neal rests against the seat, his posture a mirror of Harry's own, right down to hands resting on elegantly crossed legs. "This feels a little rushed. I have nothing except the clothes on my back."

Harry concedes the point. "Give me your keys. I'll swing by and get you some basics. Anything else in particular you'd like me to include?"

"I'm guessing laptops and cell phones will be confiscated, so just the books on my nightstand. And my sketchbook and pencils." Neal shakes his head. "And now I know why you tore that sketch out of the book."

Harry nods. "I was kind of surprised you didn't say anything, but then, I didn't realize you didn't buy my cover."

"I found it kind of thrilling to be fucking and getting fucked by James Bond."

Harry tries not to wince. 

"Ah, that's right. MI-6 is full of twats. My apologies."

Harry spends the rest of the train ride giving Neal a history of the organization. As the train slows, Neal asks, "Any words of advice?"

Harry thinks for a moment. He can't give Neal an edge; the man's natural skills and talents already put him head and shoulders about the rest of the pack. "As I've already told you, the Kingsman values life. Remember that, always."

Neal looks like he wants to ask more questions, but the train stops and the doors open. "Come on, we don't have a lot of time."

Harry rushes Neal past the hanger and down to the training room. Merlin is waiting and gives Harry a resigned look. "It would be nice, Galahad, if you managed to arrive on time even once in your life."

"I'll try not to be late for my funeral." Harry pulls Neal forward. "This is Merlin. If you value your skin, you'll listen to him and treat every word he says as gospel."

Merlin nods and glares at Neal. Neal has the grace to look cowed under Merlin's steely gaze. 

"Galahad?" Neal's biting his lip and Harry sure he's trying to stifle a joke about the pure and virginal knight from the Arthurian legend.

Harry just smiles and pats Neal on the shoulder. "Good luck."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Caffrey?_

Neal takes stock of the other candidates in the dormitory, and what a bunch of entitled Hooray Henrys they are with their monogrammed blazers and weak chins. Not so bad as the Upper Class Twits from that Monty Python sketch, but close. Merlin, though, is something else. Tall and stern and Neal idly wonders if he can be seduced. As interesting as the idea is, he quickly discards it. Fucking the teacher is never a good idea.

Neal also takes stock of the room – there's a considerable lack of privacy, with open toilets and showers, and a long mirrored wall. Probably a two-way, given how there's light flickering behind the sheen. The door he came through is the only entrance and the hinges are on the outside, so at least it's up to fire code.

Merlin closes that door and commands everyone's attention.

"Gentlemen, my name is Merlin. You are about to embark on what is probably the most dangerous job interview in the world. One of you, and only one of you, will become the next Tristan."

It seems that this organization loves its Arthurian legends. Galahad, Merlin … Tristan. Neal figures that the head of the group is probably called Arthur.

Merlin picks up a grey vinyl pack and holds it up. "Can anybody tell me what this is?"

Neal has no clue, but the boy next to him actually raises his hand. 

"It's a body bag, sir."

"That's correct. Walter, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, but I prefer Wally."

"Suit yourself." Merlin gives them all a hard stare. "You will each collect a body bag. You will write your name on that bag. You will write the details of your next of kin on that bag. This represents your acknowledgment of the risks that you are about to face. As well as your agreement to strict confidentiality. Which, incidentally, if you break, will result in you and your next of kin being in that bag. Is that understood?"

Neal picks a bunk and sits down to fill out the tag on the body bag. The death threat seems a bit odd, given Harry's advice that Kingsman values life, but then Harry also told him to treat whatever Merlin says as gospel. An interesting conundrum, as interesting as what he should put on the body bag.

Neal starts to write "Nick Halden" but changes his mind. This is supposed to be a fresh start, a way to reclaim his dreams. So he puts down "Neal Caffrey" and laughs. After Merlin's speech, there's no way he's putting down his mother's name. Instead, he writes "Peter Burke, FBI, White Collar Division, NY, NY."

__

TO BE CONTINUED

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The MI-6 Building on the Albert Embankment in Milbank, London:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The classic Monty Python skit: https://youtu.be/k5ba1OKY7Xc
> 
> This is also the last of the pre-movie, pre-series stories. When we next convene, the series will focus on Neal joining the Table, interacting with Merlin and Eggsy and Roxy. Nothing will be compliant with The Golden Circle (except perhaps Harry's return, _perhaps_ ). 
> 
> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), or on my old school (and much beloved) [Dreamwidth](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) account.


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